Fire Escape
by Landlady of the Universe
Summary: Ian's wet, cold and Witchy wants a word with him...


Hmm, well, this is my first Witchblade fic and my first song fic.  I'm not too sure about it so review and let me know what you think, pretty please?  

Disclaimer: Witchblade belongs to TNT and some other people, and the song is "Fire Escape" by Fastball.

Fire Escape

It was raining. Rain that fell back to the earth in sheets, punctuated by frequent thunder and flashes of lightning.  Basically, it was pouring.  And Ian Nottingham wasn't too happy about it.

For once, all he could think about was the warmth of his overstuffed reading chair and his favorite book.  In reality, he was sitting on a rickety fire escape while rain dripped into the neck of his overcoat and down his back.  Sara, the object of his observation, was asleep, and if the Witchblade was giving her dreams then they were peaceful ones.  Ian wished that he had the opportunity to dream as well.  He couldn't remember the last time that he hadn't spent a night like this, watching the Wielder as she slept.  Whenever it was, it had been the last time that he had gotten a decent night sleep.

Not that he blamed Sara.  Irons insistence, coupled with his own desire to protect the Wielder, had led to his current position: soggy and freezing his butt off, and bound to stay that way for a while.  Unless the fire escape collapsed under him first of course.

Inside, Sara stirred, and Ian snapped out of his bitter contemplations immediately.  But it was nothing, just the detective turning over in her sleep.  Ian's eyes weren't drawn to her face or her nearly nude figure, but instead to the red jewel embedded in the Witchblade.

It was glowing.  Angrily.  Beckoning.  Ian leaned forward without realizing what he was doing.  Pressing his face to the glass, he lost himself in the steady chaotic swirling of the Blade.

Suddenly, it activated, turning into gauntlet form.  Ian jumped back almost a foot from surprise.  Yet, Sara didn't wake up.

Somehow, Ian got the feeling that the Blade wasn't too happy with him.  The fact that Sara didn't even stir only confirmed that suspicion.  He turned to go, knowing, as he had always known, that Sara really didn't need him for protection, she had the Witchblade after all.  Maybe just once he could crawl into a warm bed before five AM.

Unfortunately, the Witchblade had other ideas.  Before he had even fully turned around, he was plunged into a vision.

Well, I don't wanna be President

Superman or Clark Kent

I don't wanna walk round in their shoes

It wasn't a new experience.  Once, when he had been younger, Irons had taken the precious bracelet from his vault and let him touch it, not put it on, just barely brush the jewel with his fingers.  In that instant, a thousand lives had come to light … his lives, or rather, his past lives with the Wielder and the Witchblade, from the time of its creation.  Irons had been to busy regaling him with the history of the Blade, and bragging about the fact that he had worn it and lived to tell about it, and how precious it was, and not to leave fingerprints on it to notice the few seconds of wonder on the young boy's face when the vision came.  Since then, Ian had progressively been shown details of his past lives, usually during his meditation, even when the Blade was miles away.

But now, it seemed to be showing him the future … or possible future, if that was what he wished.

'Cause I don't know who's side I'm on

I don't know my right from wrong

I don't know where I'm going to

I don't know about you

They stood together, Wielder and Protector on the shore of a vast ocean.  Ian's arm was around Sara as they watched the sun set across the sea.  There were tears in Sara's eyes.  Happy tears, Ian had seen her cry enough to know.  And the fact that she looked up and kissed him was a pretty good clue too.  But Ian wasn't too caught up in the kiss not to notice the flash of a ring on the third finger of her left hand…

I'll be the rain falling on your fire escape

And I may not be the man you want me to

I can be myself, how 'bout you?

The vision immediately flashed to another scene.  One in which Ian and Sara were definitely not together.  Sara was on an investigation of the kind that only she could pull off: one that ended up in a shootout.  Bullets glanced off the gauntlet formed Witchblade as she fired at her attackers.  Ian watched from the sidelines, ready to jump in at any second if was necessary to protect his Wielder's life.  Then suddenly, before Ian could act, Bruno Dante stepped out of the shadows and pointed a pistol at Sara.  He fired, and Sara fell.  _Dead, no…_  Ian caught her before she could hit the ground, glaring daggers at Dante.  The White Bull smirked at the Protector and leveled his gun at him.  "This is a gift from your master … for your loyalty," he said.  _Irons…_  Before he could process the thought, pain exploded in Ian's head and he was falling… drowning.   And the Witchblade was not on Sara's wrist.  _Abandoned…_

Ian gasped as suddenly he was dropped from his vision back into cold reality.  His hand flew immediately to his forehead, expecting to find blood there, but the only moisture was from sweat and the rain that still fell.

_I don't understand,_ Ian thought as he recalled his visions.  _Irons had me killed … us killed.  And the Witchblade ... the Witchblade abandoned Sara, but why? _

A sudden tapping on the windowpane in front of him pulled Ian out of his reverie.  Sara was standing in front of the glass, with a curious expression on her face.  Shaking her head to clear it of whatever she'd been thinking, she bent down to open the window.

"Get your butt in here Nottingham.  If you're dense enough to sit out there during a thunderstorm, then you probably deserve to get a cold, but I'm not quite so cruel as to watch.  Then again, I doubt that you have the physical capability to get sick."  Sara stood aside as a very confused Ian entered her apartment.  She stepped back to look him over, and the assassin was hard pressed not to fidget under her gaze.  "Wait here," she said finally, disappearing to leave Ian wondering what he'd done wrong.  But when she came back, she merely held out a towel.  Ian took it with a word of thanks, and began to dry his hair as best he could.  "I'm afraid that I don't have anything that will remotely fit you, but you're welcome to wring your clothes out in the bathroom if you want."  She yawned and turned back to her bed.  "Just try not to leave any puddles anywhere, k?  I'm going back to sleep."

I don't wanna make you mad

I don't wanna meet your dad

I don't wanna be your dream come true

Ian blinked a few times, more confused that he had ever been in his whole life.  Words that he hadn't intended to say were ripped out of him before he realized what he was doing, "Sara, did you … did you see?"

She rolled over and opened an eye to glare at him, "See what Nottingham?"

"The vision.  Of us.  Didn't it wake you?"

"Nooo," Sara replied with a weird look at the assassin, "The thunder did.  In fact, I haven't had any strange Witchblade dreams all night."

Ian released a silent sigh and let the matter go.  Fortunately, Sara seemed just as willing to forget what he'd said and sleep.

'Cause I don't know just what I've found

I don't know my sky from ground

I don't know where I'm going to

I don't know about you

Thunder boomed over the sleeping city.  Ian looked up for an instant from where he sat in lotus position on the floor a few feet from Sara's bed.  A quick glance out the window assured him that it was still pouring outside.  Under the circumstances, Ian was happy to stay where he was, nice and dry, well, still a little damp, but much dryer than he had been.

Closing his eyes again, Ian returned to his contemplation, replying the vision that the Witchblade had given him over and over in his mind.  He let the questions flow as well.  What did the Witchblade mean by the vision?  Why two separate situations?  Were they predictions of what could come depending on future events?  If so, what would be the deciding factor?  Why had Sara let him into her apartment anyway?

Taking a deep breath, Ian finally pushed back the ongoing queries that threatened to consume him.  Maybe simply letting his questions sort themselves out wasn't the way to figure out what was going on.  So instead, he cleared his mind and began to dissect the vision bit by bit.

The two parts to his vision had been completely opposite.  So it made the most sense that they were possible futures, probably depend on his actions.  But what would be the deciding factor?  Remembering the words of Sara's treacherous captain, Ian wondered, could it be Mr. Irons?  Or rather, Ian's involvement with the man?

I'll be the rain falling on your fire escape

And I may not be the man you want me to

I can be myself, how 'bout you?

Come to think of it, it wouldn't be like Irons to let Ian and Sara go off somewhere by themselves.  And considering Sara's dislike of the businessman, Ian doubted that she would have been so relaxed if he were anywhere near.  For that matter, Irons would have never let Ian marry Sara, especially if Sara had turned Irons down.  The only conclusion that Ian could draw was that, for whatever reason, he was no longer in Irons' service, at least in that version of the future.

In the other, however, it was quite obvious that Ian had still been working for Irons.  And yet, Irons had had him killed along with Sara.  He hadn't been able to protect the Wielder because he had been held back by his loyalty to Irons.  He had failed, in all accounts.  Sara had been killed, the Witchblade had left her, and Irons no longer cared for him.  Could this be his future if he chose to remain with the man who had raised him?

I'll be the rain falling on you fire escape

And I may not be the man you want me to

I can be myself, how 'bout you?

I can be myself, how 'bout you?

Ian opened his eyes in the darkness.  It had stopped raining, leaving only the trickle of water running off the roof to make any noise in the still early morning.  Soon, he would have to leave his Lady's side and return to Irons to make a report.

And yet… the Witchblade didn't want him to.

Ian was sure that that was what the Blade had been trying to tell him: stay with Irons and you will fail Sara.  It was obvious that the Blade was less than fond of Irons, yet what she had shown him seemed to make sense.  No, he knew it made sense; he had always known.

Rising, Ian moved towards the window to leave.  As he passed the bed, Sara rolled over and moaned his name in her sleep.  The assassin froze for a moment, then bent down to lightly kiss his Lady on the cheek.  "Soon, Sara.  Soon, I will never have to leave your side again," he whispered, brushing back a stray bit of hair from her face.

He straightened, and stepped out the window without a backward glance.  The road he was about to take was a hard one, but he knew now what he had to do.

I can be myself

How 'bout you?


End file.
